Do You Remember Me?
by Glimmer Conlon O'Leary
Summary: I'm not a child, but my heart still can dream. So here's my lifelong wish; my grown-up Christmas list. Not for myself, but for a world in need. No more lives torn apart...


The snow fell dreamily, painting the perfect picture of Christmas. Carolers in beautiful clothing combed the streets, singing in loud, sometimes off-key voices that carried the Christmas spirit like a medal. They traveled in groups of four or more, carrying their books of sheet music as they strolled merrily through the snow.

But one singer walked alone.

One could not easily see her beauty, though it was there, nor was she dressed beautifully. She was a small young woman, just grazing five feet. She was the very epitome of poor. She had only small black slippers on her feet, and her ragged dress, once a clean cream, now clung to her form in a smudged, sooty grey. Her long, snarled brown hair was pulled back in a jade green ribbon, the only thing she possessed of loveliness, given to her by one family she'd sung for. 

But her high cheekbones and full lips, almond eyes of a piercing green and her stance gave her a regal dignity that she'd never seemed to really deserve. 

She'd been singing all night, earning food, a few coins, the ribbon, and more often than not, merely smiles of merriment as the people in the beautiful houses saw that she was there to entertain them, then smiles of pity as they turned her away with nothing. 

The young woman climbed the steps of a large building. Tinny music from a harpsichord flowed from the slightly cracked door as she approached it. Someone playing "O Holy Night." And not well. 

She knocked, softly at first, then louder as she realized that the loud people inside would not hear her if she didn't pound. 

After a few minutes of practically kicking down the door, she sighed and turned away. She grasped the stone railing and leaned over to peek into the windows. Boys of all ages were in that building, all laughing and having fun and giving each other small, cheap gifts they'd no doubt saved up for. 

Pulling back, she craned her neck to see a sign faintly proclaiming "Newsboys' Lodging House."  She turned and began to make her way down the steps, making it halfway down before realizing that she had nowhere else to go. She had no family, no job, no home, no friends. She had nowhere else to be. 

This sudden epiphany hitting her like a sudden hailstorm, the woman plopped her frail, tired body down on the steps. Feeling desperation creep up on her like a cat stalking a mouse, her tears began to build. Pushing them down, she took a deep, steadying breath and strained to hear the music wafting from the door she'd sufficiently succeeded in knocking almost fully open. 

The player began a new tune, one she knew well. Her eyes welled with a vengeance this time, in remembrance of the song her mother used to sing often during Christmas. Her mother, who thought only of the greater good during the holidays, never of herself. Only her daughter and the world. 

Before she had even thought of what she was doing, this girl, only seventeen, pushed into womanhood too early, began to sing in a voice that did not fit her small body. The music that flowed from her mouth seemed to carry it's own symphony, and it overpowered even the loudest chorale. 

_"Do you remember me?_

_I sat upon your knee._

_I wrote to you_

_With childhood fantasies._

_Well I'm all grown up now,_

_And still need help somehow._

_I'm not a child,_

_But my heart still can dream._

_"So here's my lifelong wish._

_My grown-up Christmas list._

_Not for myself,_

_But for a world in need."_

She let the words build power in her chest and gently sung them out for the City—for the world—to hear.

_"No more lives torn apart,_

_That wars would never start, _

_And time would heal all hearts._

_And everyone would have a friend,_

_And right would always win,_

_And love would never end._

_This is my grown-up Christmas list."_

She paused, feeling as though maybe, maybe if she wished hard enough, if she prayed long enough, that something would come of this song; that possibly rolls would fall from the sky, or chocolate coins wrapped in real gold. Or a friend. Or maybe a home. Or someone to love her.

_"As children we believed,_

_The grandest sight to see,_

_Was something lovely_

_Wrapped beneath our tree."_

Suddenly filled with passion, her song gained power.

_"But Heaven only knows,_

_That packages and bows_

_Can never heal_

_A hurting human soul."_

She closed her eyes gently and began to really, truly pray the words she sang, hoping to sing magnificently enough so that God Himself would hear and help her…help His world.

_"No more lives torn apart,_

_That wars would never start, _

_And time would heal all hearts._

_And everyone would have a friend,_

_And right would always win,_

_And love would never end._

_This is my grown-up Christmas list."_

Storybook images of sugarplums and stockings filled her mind. Children playing and laughing, even whining, as they waited to see Santa and tell him what they wanted for Christmas. If only she could be one of them again.

_"What is this illusion_

_Called the innocence of youth?_

_Maybe only in our blind belief_

_Can we ever find the truth."_

Maybe, just possibly, if she believed enough in Santa, in Jesus, in God…in Christmas miracles, then just maybe the world would heal itself. Maybe the world would give her back her mother, her home. Maybe it would give those boys in the building behind her hope for a future.

_"No more lives torn apart,_

_That wars would never start, _

_And time would heal all hearts._

_And everyone would have a friend,_

_And right would always win,_

_And love would never end._

_This is my grown-up Christmas list."_

She stopped and thought that there was a chance that Santa, or God, even, had heard her pleas. Just for good measure, she added this, as an afterthought, her voice sweet and ringing of strong, empowered soprano tones:

_"This is my only lifelong wish._

_This is my grown-up Christmas list."_

She took a moment to clasp her hands and send one word up to the heavens: "Please."  Her eyes shut, glistening tears wetting her light lashes, she prayed this one word over and over.

Gathering her bearings, she picked herself off the stoop, untying the ribbon in her hair and holding it in her cold hands, twisting it over and under her long fingers.  Her hair, dark and reaching down her back in tangled waves, bounced behind her and over her shoulders, stroking her cheek almost comfortingly, as she quickly moved down the steps.

She left without looking back.

What she did not know was that the door she had pounded open had allowed her voice to flow into the building of boys behind her. She did not know that her voice, bound for God, had met their ears as well. 

They stared out the door at her slowly retreating back. It almost seemed as though light from a star shone down upon her, lighting not only her path, but also her dignity.

She also had no notion of the fact that there _had_ been a Christmas miracle that night. _She was the miracle_. She'd touched the hearts of boys wondering whether or not they deserved to take up space in the world; she'd made them think.

But most of all, she'd made them thankful. Thankful for their food, their jobs, and most importantly, their friends. 

And everyone would have a friend… 

And her song gave her friends that night. Never would those boys forget the girl who had taught them the true meaning of Christmas:

That everyone should have a friend.

end.__

Hmm. Not sure how I feel about this one. But I LOVE this song, which belongs to the writers, David Foster and Linda Thompson Jenner. The version of the song that I wrote this to is Kelly Clarkson's, which you should DEFINITELY download. Or, if you're a law abiding citizen, buy the American Idol Christmas CD. Newsies belongs to Disney.

Review me? Merry Christmas, Happy Hannukah, Kwanzaa, or what have you. Spiffy Chrismakkuh!    

-wink- LOVES! 

L'n'MP (W/ Christmas socks!)

Glimm


End file.
